


A Simple Arrangement

by helens78, valuna



Category: Establishment RPF, GoldenEye (1995) RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Negotiations, Phone Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-16
Updated: 2004-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Married GWM, 45, seeks long-term boy for domination, painplay, sex. Not  a threesome. Partner is vanilla and supportive but not interested in joining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Icon by Luna.

> _Married GWM, 45, seeks long-term boy for domination, painplay, sex. Not a threesome. Partner is vanilla and supportive but not interested in joining._

_Sir, responding to your ad. This boy is very interested. Would like to meet you. Call 555-5646-7993 to arrange time._

Sean picks up his phone and his cigarettes and heads to the kitchen table to return a phone call. He dials the phone number left in voicemail, lights a cigarette, and glances out to the front lawn, looking at the squirrels who are still trying to get into the bird feeders. Silly, really, but entertaining enough to watch.

It takes Jonny one ring to notice the phone's trying to get his attention, and another two rings to find it. By the third ring, he's picking it up with barely a glance to the caller ID display, not that he recognizes the name on it anyway. "Miller here," he says, picking up the watering can and giving the small potted ficus tree a drink. "Can I help you?"

Sean takes a soft drag off his cigarette before responding. "Hello, Mr. Miller. My name's Sean. I believe you responded to an ad I placed..."

Jonny thinks for a minute. _Ad. Oh, fuck, yeah._ He puts down the watering can. "Yessir, I did," he says, voice still light but a shade softer. "It's Jonny, not Mr. Miller."

"Jonny, then." Sean slides his breath out between his teeth, licks his lips and tastes smoke. "You left voice mail suggesting we arrange a time to meet. How does tomorrow night sound? Nine o'clock. There's a bar I know. Quiet. Private. We can talk about my ad and your interest in it over drinks."

"That would be fine. Nine o'clock. I don't have any conflicts." Jonny glances down, rubs a stray patch of potting soil into the denim. "Is there a dress code? Should I wear anything special?"

"Oh, something comfortable," Sean says. "Something that won't bother you to move around in. But no, special requests apart from that, that's the sort of thing we negotiate if we both end up wanting more than just talk."

"I understand, Sir. Just wanted to make sure it wasn't super-dressy. Comfortable I can do easily enough." _Special requests. Don't get ahead of yourself, Miller. It's just a talk._

"Fair enough, then. Anything you'd like to ask before we meet?" Sean says.

"Obvious question. How will I know you?"

"You won't have to -- I'll leave your name with the hostess and she'll bring you back to my table -- but if you'd like a description, I can give you one. Or--" And Sean grins; this is one of the best parts of meeting people in this day and age as opposed to ten years earlier--"I can email you a picture if you like."

"S'up to you. I don't need to know what you like to meet you and talk. Your ad made me curious enough for that." Jonny moves to the kitchen sink, starts stacking dishes to wash. "I'd be happy to swap photos, though, if you want to know more of what you're getting into."

"Mm, I'd like that. What's the point of having all the bloody computers if you're not going to take advantage of them?" Sean tucks his cigarette between his lips and goes to the computer on the counter, between the fridge and the toaster oven. "What's your email address, then?" As soon as he's got it, he's mailing off the pictures, a few decent full-length shots and something that takes in his face a little closer. They're all relatively recent, leather jacket, longish hair.

Jonny pulls the laptop across the counter and starts rummaging through the pictures folder on his computer. Too many make him look like a teen. _But maybe that's what the guy wants._ And the others make him look, he sighs, like a horny actor in one of those Brit stock comedies. He finally settles on one where he has a decent smile and is wearing that grey-black slick shirt he likes so much. It's nearly full-length, so it'll give the guy an idea of what he's getting. And then adds to the email in progress the shot of him with the white shirt and brown dress jacket. In both, his hair is mussed and its natural blond-brown.

He likes what he sees in Sean's photos. "Nice looking, Sir. Like the hair."

"Like yours, too," Sean agrees with a grin, as soon as Jonny's photos load up. _Fuckin' adorable._ "Looking forward to meeting you in person."

* * *

Jonny finds himself anxious all day, not paying a bit of attention to his lentil soup at lunch and even less to the conversation from his colleagues in the crypt cafe. He's thinking ahead to the evening, and so it's no surprise he has his outfit picked out by dinner time. It's a simple look, black trousers and an off-white shirt layered over a black tee, the clothes fitted enough to accent a runner's body but not lewdly suggestive.

He walks into the bar and looks around. Sparse crowd, most of whom look like comfortable regulars. Just as he starts to give his name to the hostess, he notices a familiar face in the back of the room. _Looks enough like the photo in the email,_ he thinks and he shrugs the woman off with a quick "I see him" before heading to the table.

Sean stands up as soon as he spots Jonny, taking to his feet and holding his hand out once Jonny gets there. "Hello," he grins. "How are you doing tonight?"

Taking the hand, Jonny shakes it solidly but not too eagerly before letting go, nothing to betray the sudden leap his libido took on getting closer. _Very nice in person._ "Fine, Sir. You?" He pulls out a chair and sits down, politely waiting on Sean to do so first. "Tube's running glitchy tonight. Was worried I'd be late."

"I'm fine as well. Glad to meet you in person," Sean offers. He gets the attention of a nearby waiter and tilts both eyebrows up at Jonny. "Something to drink?"

"Beer'll be fine," Jonny says quickly, resisting the urge to add _unless you have plans for later that mean I shouldn't be drinking_. "Whatever's on tap is great."

"Two," Sean nods at the waiter, "whatever lager you've got on tap." He waits until the waiter's gone and then leans forward on the table. "So we could wander through small talk until it doesn't feel quite so awkward, or we start talking about what we're doing here." He grins. "Have a preference?"

Ice broken. That's good. Jonny smiles, glances around and satisfies himself there's no one really paying attention to them. "Let's venture into why we're here and occasionally meander back into the small talk," he says, tilting his head slightly. "You want a boy. Any special requirements?"

"Are there any requirements that aren't special for something like this?" Sean asks. "I'm looking for someone who likes serving --whether that's through offering sex or offering pain or simply being around for two days a week waiting for me to decide what use to make of him next. I like watching -- which can mean mirrors or watching you strip off or touch yourself for me -- and I like boys who blush. And you? What do you require from someone you're going under for?"

Last requirement's fulfilled quite easily, as Jonny blushes faintly just from the idea of mirrors. "I like serving, being on my knees," he says, "for as long as you need me to be. I'm a bit exhibitionist when I sink into space, and I can do formal if you get off on it." Jonny pauses, thinking through his words before pushing them out of his mouth. "And I like pain, too much for my own good sometimes."

"Does that mean you have trouble safewording when you need to, or have you just been worried about what would happen if you had a dom who didn't know when to stop?" Sean asks, going a little more serious now. "Or something else?"

"Means I'm a slut for pain, if we're talking bluntly, and I tend to have trouble saying no to doms who want to push the envelope," Jonny answers, voice quiet and serious. "Never had one push me to the point of feeling I needed to safeword, so not sure if I'd have trouble with that or not." He sits back as the waiter approaches with the beers, wondering just how much those admissions are going to put Sean off.

Sean takes his beer, thanking the waiter for it, and sends him off again; at this rate, it'll be a while before he's ready to order dinner. "I do like to push," Sean murmurs, "but that's something to be worked up to. And if you _want_ to be pushed 'til you safeword, that's one thing, but I can't imagine dropping that on you unexpected."

"Didn't anticipate it on the first date, Sir," Jonny says. He picks up his beer, takes a couple sips, his mind nowhere near thinking about food. "Just saying I'm not a novice at this, I don't have many limits and I'm open to new experiences."

And all three taken on top of each other have Sean's cock twitching in his trousers, briefs suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight. He flicks his tongue out over his lips and keeps his eyes dead-solid locked on Jonny's, and reaches down to adjust himself. "Good," Sean murmurs. "So the attraction's plain enough, unless I'm reading everything wrong tonight. Do you _want_ to go after something with me?"

It's hard for Jonny to hold the eye contact, the intense stare, without blushing. "I want to give you what you asked for in your ad, Sir." He shifts, spreading his legs under the table, stretching out his foot, his own trousers feeling a bit snug and his clothes suddenly way more than he wants to have on. "A boy to dominate, hurt and fuck. We can talk more specifically if you like."

"If you'd like to run through a checklist of sorts, we can do that back and forth via email," Sean offers. "Why don't you tell me what sort of kink drives you wild, and if there are any specifics there you want to offer -- strap vs. flogger vs. cat? -- you're welcome to."

"Kinks? Okay, starting point." Jonny leans onto the table, elbow up and thumb tracing the edge of his teeth as he thinks. "I like being beaten," he starts, shifting his hand to run through the edges of his hair. "Tied up, begging for it, struggling till my wrists are raw from the cuffs or rope cutting into the flesh. Heavy flogger. Cat works nice. One with barbs is even better," he pauses, "but you gotta be into bloodplay a bit for that."

"I can do bloodplay," Sean murmurs. "And I like everything you're describing. Do you like sex with pain, or do you prefer keeping them separate?"

Jonny smiles wider. _Oh, yeah. Can do bloodplay._ And he runs his hand down over his neck. "Don't have a preference. If one yields the other, that's brill. If not, it's alright."

"Getting into blood has its complications," Sean says, "but it's fucking gorgeous to play with. And it's worth the complication on my end. Christ." He shakes his head, laughing softly. "Didn't mean to make dinner a buffet of kink. I like this, though. I like how this sounds. I like the way this feels, the places it seems like it's going. How do you feel?" he asks.

"Horny," Jonny says bluntly. "Hard. Wanting to drop to my knees right now and crawl around the table to you, beg you to hurt me." He pauses, takes a long sip of beer. "Yeah, I like the way it feels."

"And I'd want to put you between my legs and press your face between my legs, then have you rest at my feet while I hand-fed you. Christ, I should've picked a kink-friendly restaurant for this," Sean laughs. "But no -- this is good -- I've rushed things before and had bad results out of it. If you go home and feel like wanking as much as I do right now, though, I want you to call me. Would you call me?"

That image only serves to make Jonny harder than he was before, and he shifts uncomfortably. "Promise. Might be on the mobile walking up to the flat, 'cause I know I'm gonna wanna pull off after this. No two ways about that, Sir."

"All right." Sean exhales. "Christ. And now we're supposed to think about food."

"Yeah, something thick and juicy and," Jonny laughs. "I'm just working myself into trouble, aren't I?"

"You might be," Sean grins. "Do you like getting into trouble?"

"I don't _try_ to get into it. Sometimes it just finds me." Jonny shrugs. "Not enough so's I've been hauled in for anything, but a few scrapes."

"And what about getting into trouble with your tops?" Sean asks. "How do you feel about taking punishment?"

"If it's justified, I don't have any problem with it," Jonny says. "As long as it's not a top's whim, just to see how I react."

"I'm the same thing, in reverse," Sean agrees. "Don't mind punishment as long as it's not deliberate misbehavior in order to _be_ punished. Can't quite wrap my mind around that. It's too many paradoxes in a row for me."

"Don't have to worry about that, Sir." Jonny bites softly at his lip. "I wouldn't misbehave for you."

Sean's just about to say something when the waiter comes back. And he's not sure whether it's just, again, _I'm going to like the fit of this_ or whether it'd lead to something more like _Come here -- lean over the table -- I want to find out what your lips taste like._ But then the waiter's standing there and he doesn't have the chance to think about it anymore. It's just picking out dinner and pretending he isn't harder than he's been in recent memory, thinking that _finally_ he's going to have what he's been missing all this time.

Jonny orders something. He knows it's _not_ from the vegetarian side of the menu, but beyond that he doesn't have a clue. He's too busy staring at Sean to pay attention to the waiter, and when the food comes, he's still idly chatting and watching. _Would it be too forward to say fuck the phone call and just take me home?_ By the time the check's come, he's barely concentrating on the half-eaten meal, turns out it was steak with a peppercorn sauce, and trying to figure out if the hard-on he has is going to be noticeable to his fellow Tube travelers.

* * *

The drive back to Sean's flat is fast and easy, and by the time he walks in his erection's subsided. A little, anyway. He hangs his jacket up and heads upstairs to the study, where he's not likely to get much done apart from waiting, and wondering how long it'll be before Jonny calls, and what Sean's going to have him do when he does. He rests the heel of his hand against his cock and presses down, hard and then harder, forcing himself not to open up his trousers and just start stroking. _You can wait._

Fortunately for Jonny, the Tube's not overly full on a weekday night and he doesn't have to avoid too many people. He's damned hard walking from the station to his flat and, true to his word, he's on the mobile before he gets there, phone tucked in his pocket and headset on.

"C'mon, pick up," he mutters as he rounds the corner to his street. He's anxious, curious what Sean'll do over the phone, wanting it more than he's wanted anything in a long time. Key's out and front door's unlocked when he hears the call finally click through and he's holding his breath without thinking.

"Hello, lad," Sean says softly. "How was your trip home?"

"Too long, Sir," Jonny says, letting out the breath as he closes the door behind him, leans against it. "But I'm home."

"Get somewhere comfortable," Sean orders -- first order. He has to give his cock another hard squeeze to keep from groaning over it.

"Comfortable," Jonny echoes, toeing out of his loafers and heading up the townhouse's stairs. _Bed's best._ He doesn't bother turning on the light, but sits down on the bed, back against the headboard and pulls his mobile from his pocket, laying it on the pillow. "Okay, Sir. I'm there."

"Still dressed the way you were at dinner?" Sean asks, heel of his hand rocking down against his cock, one hard press, another, and this is almost cheating, almost touching himself before he intended to, so he puts his hand on the armrest and exhales softly. _Not yet._

"Yes, Sir. Just walked in the door." Jonny slides his hand to his thigh, an unconscious gesture, but doesn't touch himself. "Haven't had time to undress."

"Good," Sean murmurs. "Because I want you to undress for me. Start with your shirt. I want your chest bare. Your fingertips gliding over your skin for me."

Jonny unbuttons his overshirt and sits up, pulling it off, dropping it off the side of the bed. "Taking my T-shirt off now," he says, catching his fingers in the hem and rolling it up, over his head, stretching his arms out as he finishes and casts it away. He isn't sure how detailed a description Sean wants of his movements. "Moving my hands back down, hands crossed behind my neck, pulling my fingers over my shoulders."

"Tell me what it's like," Sean says. "What does it feel like having my voice on the line, telling you to touch yourself? How does it make the sensations feel when you actually do it?"

"It's hard to describe. Exhilarating. Your voice, it's like cream over trifle," Jonny starts, blushing at having to put into words what he's thinking, feeling. "Frightening, that you control over me, but in a good way, like getting on the haunted house ride at Brighton. I want it." He runs his hands down over his chest, thumbs casually crossing nipples. "There's a tingle, a shudder when I'm touching my chest. I can close my eyes and imagine it's you doing it."

"Good lad," Sean breathes. "I can imagine what you'd look like, touching yourself for me. Obedient. Gorgeous. _Mine._" He grins. "I'm going to start unbuttoning my shirt, lad, and I want you sucking your fingers into your mouth for me. And then I want them running in circles around your nipples, hot and wet."

Obedient. Yes. Jonny slides his fingers into his mouth and sucks on them, one by one, the noise carrying through the phone. "Yessir, obedient boy," he says, circling a wet thumb over his right nipple while sucking on the left index finger and sliding it down to amuse his left nipple. "Christ, Sir, that feels so good. They're hard, almost instantly." For a moment, he wonders how it'd be different if he'd gone with the drunken whim to get them pierced.

"You sound good," Sean decides, finishing with the buttons down the front of his shirt and moving to the buttons of his sleeves. "Pinch one for me -- hard -- and hold the pinch 'til I tell you to stop."

That's a simple command. Jonny pinches his left nipple, twisting his fingers just a nudge and he immediately reacts, stomach sucking in and breath hitching for the second it takes the pain to splinter through his chest. "Yessir," he moans, "doing it. It hurts. Sudden, sharp pain. Haven't been treated like this in a while."

"You sound perfect," Sean whispers, trailing his own fingers up and down the center of his chest. "Fucking good for me, lad. Stop now. Ease back."

He lets go, finger easing up and hand sliding away, and then lets out a breath he'd forgotten he was holding. "You're good for me, Sir," Jonny says, just as softly, his voice eerie in the darkness of his room. "I haven't done this in a long time, given over."

"Have you been missing it?" Sean asks. But what he's really wondering is _why now?_, and all the questions that might go along with it, ones that are perhaps too complicated to go over when he's got a charming, obedient lad on the other end of his phone line.

"Yes." It's not something Jonny needs to go into, not now. Maybe later, if it's important. It wasn't that the last guy hurt him, not really, more like it just didn't work, and he got out of the habit of looking for anyone else, just threw himself into making a career. And it's too early to think _this_ might work, that he might've found something. "I've missed having the control. Didn't realize how much, Sir, till you started talking, telling me what to do."

"Next on the list of things to do: I want your hands still. On your thighs unless you need to use one to hang onto your mobile. I want you to listen to me tossing off. While I'm thinking of putting you on your knees and using your mouth." Sean leans forward in his chair and tucks his phone between ear and shoulder in order to get his shirt pulled off. "Do you like being on your knees, sucking men off?"

"Fuck, yes, love it, sir." Jonny swears he could come just from listening to Sean describe what he's going to do, much less do it. He flattens his palms against his thighs, carefully not letting his fingers slip too close to his cock. "Hands on thighs, sir. Mobile has a headset." Not that Sean needs to know, but Jonny's just talking.

"Lucky boy," Sean teases. "If we decide to take up phone calls more often, I'm going to have to get myself the same." He stands up, unbuckles his belt one-handed and pulls it out of his belt loops. "I've got my shirt off, and I'm working on the rest of it..." There's the soft sound of a zipper, and Sean makes the rustle of fabric a little more audible than it would normally be. "There -- better --down to my boxers, and give me a moment to get those off as well." He sets the phone down, finishes stripping out of his clothes, and climbs back into the armchair, glad the leather's still warm with his body heat.

"I'm sure you realize _exactly_ what he's doing to this boy," Jonny says, licking his lips and flexing his fingers, pushing his thighs down into the bed. "I'd like to be there, Sir, undressing you, folding your shirt neatly before I'm allowed to touch your trousers. Kneeling to pull your shoes off and staying there, till I'm told differently." Normally, being this hard, it'd be more difficult by the second not to touch himself, but Jonny's content to wait, to follow orders, be told what he can do and when.

"Oh, and you'd look good there. Still for me. Quiet. And I'd come around you in a circle and run my fingertips over your cheeks, thinking of how they'd hollow while your lips were tight around my cock. God, yes..." Sean curls hand around cock and starts stroking lightly. "Touching myself now. Thinking of you."

Jonny shivers, suddenly icy cold in the too-warm room. "I'd take you in, Sir, down my throat, as far as you wanted." He swallows, wets his lips. "Anything you'd give me. Everything."

"You'd have to watch a while first," Sean breathes, heartbeat echoing the slow rhythm of his strokes, hand on cock, fingers drawing up the length of him. "You'd have my hand dug into your hair, tilting your face back, and you'd be watching me pull myself off for you. Wondering when you'd get a taste of it."

"I'd try to be patient, try not to fidget too much, wanting it, wanting to beg you for it, not knowing if I'm even allowed that privilege." Jonny wants to touch himself, wants to make his cock harder, just for the voice on the phone, the soft breath and whispered moans. "I'm tugging against your hand, Sir, not to get away, but to quietly beg for more."

"Open your mouth for me. Tongue on your lower lip. Nice and easy." Sean exhales, squeezes his cock hard. God, this feels good. He's _missed_ it. Far more than he realized.

Jonny does as ordered. He opens his mouth slowly, breathing out more audibly, and slides his tongue forward, resting it on his lower lip. He can almost taste the anticipation, in his mind see himself on his knees, head back, waiting for whatever Sean chooses to give him.

"The head of my cock's resting against your lips now. My hand's guiding it. Rubbing it against your open lips and your tongue, dipping into your mouth just a fraction, then pulling back. Tell me. How's my lad behaving himself?" Sean asks softly.

"He's being very good, Sir." Jonny moans at the image, licks his lips. "His hands are on his thighs and he's not moving them, in spite of being harder than he has been in a long time. He's listening, imagining what it would be like to have your cock on his lips, to be doing exactly what you say and _only_ that."

"Oh, God, _good_ lad," Sean breathes. "Put your hand on your cock for me, lad, and stroke 'til I tell you to stop. _Don't_ come. Go easy."

"Yessir," Jonny says eagerly, relieved at being able to touch. He wraps his hand around his cock, swollen and demanding attention, jerking at the hint of fingers, and he pulls downward, slowly, steadily, gently tugging as he's been told to do. "My cock's hard, Sir, and it almost hurts to touch, I want to come so badly."

"Think you get to come before I do?" Sean asks, smiles over the words. "You won't be coming 'til my cock's down your throat, 'til you're tasting my come over your lips and I'm licking up whatever mess you haven't been able to swallow for me."

"No, Sir, wouldn't think it. Yes, Sir, you first. Always." Jonny's spilling out the words, his fingers tightening around his cock, stroking slow and easy. He breathes in and then out, short pants and then longer breaths, tamping back on the release that's begging to come. "Christ, Sir, just the thought of being allowed to lick up your come."

"You're going to look so good when you're on your knees for me," Sean growls. "Going to look so good come-stained and begging for more. Come for me, Jonny," and Sean doesn't wait -- he cries out, low and heavy, coming harder than he has in months, hard enough that his vision's blurred and his voice gives out before his breath does.

"Thank you," he manages before he's coating his hand, coming hard and fast and stroking his cock to make it hurt even better than it was. He stops breathing, holding it for the long minute to fall over the edge, into the void, come back up, and then gasps for the air. He wants to be come-stained, wants to be sticky and begging for more, to stay on his knees after it's over, just waiting on Sean to tell him he can move.

Sean groans, the sounds from Jonny's orgasm burned into him, and he'll be stroking himself off to the memory of those sounds until he's seen Jonny again and he has new memories to fantasize over. "Good lad," he breathes. "Oh, God. Oh, God, you're going to be so good for me..."

_You're going to be something I'd forgotten I wanted._ "Thanks. Same here." Jonny's catching his breath bit by bit. He wants to ask what he's supposed to do till next time, his brain already assuming there _will_ be a next time and hoping it's more than a phone call, but that's presumptuous and definitely what a _good lad_ does. Jonny licks his lips. He likes being called that. No one's ever used it before with him.

Sean lets out a warm sigh and reaches for a nearby handkerchief to start cleaning himself up with. "What does your week look like, lad?" he asks softly.

"I've got work, but that's flexible. Nights are completely free." Jonny doesn't add that he'd consider calling in sick and clearing anything he has on schedule just to get Sean's hands on him. "I can be at your disposal most anytime, Sir."

"Shall we start with Thursday night? My house. And we'll plan for a long evening, though I'll drive you home if you need the ride." Sean's hoping he will. He's hoping Jonny will let himself be pushed that far this fast.

"Thursday's great, Sir. Do I need to bring anything? How do you want me dressed?" Jonny's trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. It's not working, he's sure, but Thursday can't come too soon, he thinks. "And what time? Where do you live anyway?" _Stop with the questions, Miller. He'll tell you what you need to know._

Sean can't help chuckling. There's enthusiasm and then there's this -- outright hunger -- and it sounds good. It sounds very good. "Bring clothes you can change into. _Wear_ clothes you can have ripped off. I want you there early, after dinner, seven if you can manage it. And I'll email the address so you don't have to worry about taking it down." He slides his tongue out over his lips. "Anything else you want to know?"

Clothes to change into. Clothes to be ripped off. No, not much else he should know. Well, maybe one thing. "Your lover, Sir," he says hesitantly. "I know what your ad said, but will he be there? Is there anything I should know about him?"

"He won't be there," Sean says. Pierce works late on Thursdays, into the early hours of dawn sometimes. "And if there's anything you'd like to know about him, just ask -- I don't have any secrets from him, don't plan on keeping him a secret, either."

"I only need to know what you want me to," Jonny says. He will admit to a curiosity about a man who _doesn't_ want to be on his knees for Sean, but he's not so curious as to delve into private matters. "Secrets don't do anyone any good," he murmurs, quickly drawing in a breath. "But, no, there's nothing else I can think of at the moment."

"All right," Sean murmurs. "How do you think you'll sleep tonight?"

"Better than I have in months," Jonny admits. "Not sure I want to move enough to take a shower even now. Just might drift off. You?"

"Feeling absolutely fucking brilliant," Sean says with a laugh, "and I think I'll sleep like the dead." And probably pounce his lover in the morning before work, Sean thinks, though he'll have to be careful to save the growling for Jonny.

Jonny laughs with Sean. "Perhaps I should hang up now, Sir, let you get to sleep." He pauses, thinking about that shower, still not wanting to move other than sink down into the blankets. And, fuck, they can be washed later. "I look forward to Thursday."

"So do I, lad. Have a good night."

_-end-_


	2. Chapter 2

Jonny's seen more of Monet and Manet today than he cares to ever see again, on the verge of hating when his job requires him to be more instructor than curator. It's only the thought of 7 o'clock that's kept him from going ballistic and marching the Harry Potter wannabes down the hall away from the Impressionists to the Caravaggio room with a detour by Delaroche.

So he's barely out of the National Gallery before he's bringing up his PDA's email and double-checking the address Sean had emailed him. It only requires one line change, so getting there shouldn't take too long, and he's down into the Charing Cross station and on his way with backpack slung over one shoulder.

_Stop being so eager, Miller. It's like you're 22 again._ He laughs, thinking back on actually being 22 and stepping into Professor Sinclair's office for the first time. He hadn't known the first thing about domination or submission and kink was when his da's back would go out. _But Harry changed all that, didn't he?_

The Tube's not too crowded, and he's to the stop nearest Sean's house with time to spare, making the jaunt a couple blocks east an easy walk in the late afternoon sun.

Sean's taken the last few minutes to give one more phone call to Pierce -- _"for God's sake, Sean, have fun with the kid, all right? I'm fine here, and if there are screaming noises when I get home I swear I won't call the police before asking you if they're the good sort of screams"_ \-- and get the house tidied up. _God, it's like a first date. All right, it is a first date, sort of. Christ, I hope it's as good in person as it was on the phone._

He's still in trousers and a button-down shirt, though the sleeves are rolled up now and the tie's long since gone, two buttons undone that are showing off his white undershirt beneath. _Hope he doesn't expect everything to be leather harnesses and codpieces. The harnesses aren't so bad, but Christ those codpieces itch like hell._

Jonny knocks on the front door and takes a deep breath. _Okay, you look fine._ He glances down. T-shirt and jeans with a button-down shirt hanging open over it. After all, Sean said wear something that could be ripped off. _Wonder if he expects you to kneel the minute you get inside?_

Sean's heart jumps into his throat as soon as he hears the knock, and it takes two deep breaths to calm himself down. He's almost laughing at himself by the time he reaches the door, grinning broadly as he opens it and sees Jonny on his doorstep, and he holds the door open. "It's good to see you again," he says softly. "Come in."

"Evening, sir," Jonny says, stepping in and to the side. He lets his backpack slide down his arm till his fingers are wrapping the straps. "It's good to see you, too." _ Stop being nervous. You've done this before._ "I hope I'm not early."

"You're exactly on time," Sean says. "Go ahead and set your pack down." He closes the door, looks Jonny up and down -- not even trying to hide the way he's giving him a once-over. And Jonny looks good tonight. _Good enough to eat. Bite. Devour._

Dropping his pack on the floor near the couch, Jonny does a quick turn, giving Sean an even better look. He doesn't mind being stared at, checked over, even if he is blushing at it. Natural reaction. "Took no time to get here from work. Just one changeover and you're damned close to the Tube station." _He probably doesn't care about your day, Miller. Or small talk._

Sean _cares_; it's just that he'd rather save talk for afterward. He steps close -- too close -- close enough to feel body heat moving between them -- and then brushes the backs of his fingers across Jonny's cheek. "Up against the door," he says softly.

"Yes, sir," he says, stepping back toward the door. _Fuck, he didn't specify which way. And you can't assume he means one by default._ Jonny opts to err on the side of not turning around and he presses his back against the door, thinking Sean can order him to turn or just spin him around, slam him face-first into the door. Either's fine with Jonny.

Sean comes up to Jonny, runs his fingertips down Jonny's face, over his cheeks, his throat. And then digs his hands into the collar of Jonny's shirt and rips, buttons flying everywhere, hands coming down to grab at Jonny's wrists and slam them into the door while Sean's body presses hard up against Jonny's and his teeth snap dangerously close to Jonny's ear.

It's sudden and brutal, and Jonny has a momentary instinct to fight back, until his wrists are slammed into the door and Sean threatens tthe bite at his jaw. _He said wear clothes that could be ripped off. He wasn't kidding._ The adrenaline surge slithers through Jonny's brain and he's hard the next instant. _Is it too soon to beg for more?_ his brain laughs at his rapid-fire desire.

Sean's thigh presses between Jonny's legs and rubs hard. He licks around the curve of Jonny's ear and then bites at the lobe, tugging at it. "I want you," he whispers between bites, "on the floor. Crawling for me. I want you so hard you're afraid you'll break if you can't get my hand or my mouth on your cock."

"Oh, god, yes," Jonny pants out without thinking. "Please. Want to crawl. Want to beg." Christ, he needs it so badly. Hadn't realized just how much he was missing it, just that notion of being sent to his knees for another man.

Growling, groaning against Jonny's skin, Sean pulls back. He glances down at Jonny's shirt; a few buttons are hanging by threads, and some have gone missing. And it really isn't enough. He tugs Jonny away from the door, spins him around, jerks his shirt down over his arms. "What else do you want?" he whispers.

_Fuck, yes. That. And more._ "Whatever you'll give me, sir," Jonny says breathlessly. "You're in charge. I take what you offer, do as you say."

"Stay still for me," Sean whispers, tugging the shirt all the way off Jonny's arms and letting it drop to the ground. "Put your hands up above your head. Cross your wrists."

_Still._ Jonny takes in a deep breath, consciously willing himself to stop moving, and he slowly raises his arms, above his head, crosses his wrists. _You can do that. Stay still. Focus._ It takes a moment to start dropping back into a familiar headspace, one he hasn't sought out in months.

Sean closes the space between them, fitting his body between Jonny's legs. He draws his hands up, from waist to wrists, getting to know the feel of Jonny's muscles under his hands. "I could have you like this," he murmurs against Jonny's ear. "Up against my door, slamming you into oak and making you beg for more against the paneling."

_With a word._ Jonny thinks it, but doesn't say it. Still. That was the order. It implies silence, no motion of any kind, expect what Sean gives him. He begs with limpness, letting his body meld to Sean's, move only as it's directed. _Yes. Want that. Fuck, yes._

_Christ._ Whether it's training or practice or instinct or just being _what Sean wants_, it doesn't matter; his new boy (_my new boy,_ Sean thinks, half-taken breathless, _he is, Christ_) is putting him in the kind of headspace where all he wants is to tear him to pieces and then pull him into bed and put him back together again. "I had so many thoughts about you," Sean murmurs. "And you're going to have to wait to find out what they are. I want you this way. Loose and willing against my door." His hands slide down again, reach to the front of Jonny's fly and start working buttons and zipper open.

Everything's coming back, all the places the others taught him about, how to drop into that headspace where all that matters is the man using you, the one calling ths shots. Jonny's there, sliding into it, waiting and willing and wanting. "Please," he murmurs against the door, breaking his own silence as Sean's fingers reach for his cock, "use me."

There's a low growl starting in the back of Sean's throat, and it wells up and spills over as he takes a soft bite at the back of Jonny's neck. "Want to," he breathes, "_going_ to, patience, lad."

_Patience?_ It's a virtue, and Jonny knows he has it. At least a bit of it. _Patience._ He takes the promise from Sean's lips and settles deeper into the headspace where there's nothing _but_ patience and waiting on his master -- _master. yes, he is. already. with so little as words and a touch_ \-- to do as he pleases.

Sean curls his hand around Jonny's cock, gives it one warm sliding stroke before stepping back and tugging Jonny's pants around his thighs. He reaches into a pocket for lube, pops the capsule open and slicks his fingers, sliding them into Jonny without warning or hesitation. Three fingers, slippery and gliding, moving in, stretching him, _fucking_ him with slow confidence.

Jonny clenches his body at the invasion, goes up on his toes, face sliding against the door. Three fingers shouldn't bother him. He's had more. Much more. But it seems so long ago and these fingers -- _oh, fuck, yes_ \-- or maybe it just feels that way because he wants it so badly. Jonny eases his body down, letting the invasion stretch his body.

"Tell me how it feels," Sean breathes, free arm wrapping around Jonny's chest, getting as much of their bodies pressed together as he can while still fucking him with those long wicked fingers.

"Tight. Hurts. Just enough. Want more." Jonny's words get strangled in a sharp hiss when those fingers curl over his prostate, dig at him from within. "Can't get enough."

"Greedy," Sean says, shoving his fingers in harder, thrusting faster, just this side of vicious. "Starved for it. Slut for it." _And you look so fucking good this way._ He licks at the side of Jonny's neck. "Is it enough, my fingers in you? Being fucked this way?" He gives his fingers a rough twist as he drags them over Jonny's prostate, twists them just as hard as he shoves back in.

_No. Want more._ The subconscious is honest. The mouth is submissive, though, and between monosyllabic whimpers and trying _not_ to squirm, Jonny manages to get out a more proper answer. "If you want it to be enough, sir, this boy can be satisfied with just your fingers."

"If I want it to be enough, then it's enough," Sean agrees, nipping at Jonny's neck. "Or if I want to fuck you with my fingers, my cock, with a dildo 'til I'm recovered enough to give you my cock again, over and over for the next nine hours, then that's enough, too. If I want it to be." He worries at Jonny's skin, just enough to bring up a warm red bruise that's going purple by the time Sean pulls away. "It won't be enough for me until you're begging." He twists his fingers again, corkscrewing them with the next several thrusts.

"Oh, fuck, yes," Jonny blurts out, totally in agreement with _all_ the ideas. "Want you to fuck me till I can't get words out anymore, till I have to beg with just my body, open and waiting. God, yes, please, want your fingers and cock and anything else you want to shove up my arse."

Sean lets his knuckles drag _hard_ over Jonny's prostate when he pulls his fingers out the next time. "Fucking adorable boy," he grins. "How many times do you think you can bear to come in the next hour?"

"How many? Hour?" Jonny's trying to think, but it's damned hard with the sensory overload ricocheting through his body. "Three. Maybe. Don't honestly know, sir."

_God, he's young._ Sean grins, thinking back to being in his twenties and under Nigel and just how far he was willing to go then. "Let's find out. I want you to come whenever you can. Just from my fingers this first time." And he starts rocking them in at a fast, not quite brutal pace, rubbing over Jonny's prostate with every stroke.

_Come whenever you can._ Okay, that's permission. And, fuck, he's on edge, so damned close, and every touch of Sean's fingers over that spot nudges him one step nearer to falling off. Ten minutes? _Can you last that long?_ Five, he makes a deal with himself. You can make it five more minutes. But his brain's not talking to his cock and his cock is hard and demanding the release. But coming without being touched? Fuck, that's rough. _Okay, you get three minutes._

Sean's not ticking off the seconds. Not _this_ time. But he could. And he's tempted to. _Not yet. Save that for another time. That's advanced technique, and you're just learning each other._ He bites Jonny's neck again, though, licks over the bite, starts to wonder just how many bruises he can leave before he'll get his new boy in trouble with the rest of his life.

It's all he needed. Biting. Bruising. It sends Jonny over the edge and he's coming, his cock jerking and spurting creamy jets against the door, over his stomach and groin. "Oh, fuck, yes," he whimpers, tugging to make the bite go deeper. No one cares how many bruises he has. And fuck if it's summer; he'll just wear very thin turtlenecks.

_Perfect._ Sean pulls his fingers back, then curls an arm around Jonny's waist. "Good boy," he growls. "I want you over the back of the sofa. You can collapse once you're there," he grins. "Come on." But despite the growl, he's letting Jonny lean on him all the way over, and he drapes a blanket over the sofa's arm before bending Jonny over it.

Jonny doesn't move except for Sean's guiding him to the couch and being draped over it like an afghan knitted especially for the room. _Good boy. I like that._ He stretches out his arms in front of him, touching the cushions, and spreads his legs, body more open than before, yielding.

"It's going to hurt when I fuck you," Sean murmurs, letting his trousers down and pushing his briefs down over his hips. He's got a condom in hand, and he slicks it over his cock, bending over to press his chest against Jonny's back. _Imagine what this is going to feel like when you've turned his skin red from shoulders to thighs._ "Would you tell me if you thought you couldn't bear any more of it?"

_Trick question. Fuck._ Skin-on-skin contact, Sean leaning over Jonny's back, short-circuits his brain even more. "Guess so, sir, if it got to that. Can't imagine a fucking getting me to safeword, and that's pretty much the point where I'd say I couldn't bear it."

"Good boy." Sean licks over the back of Jonny's neck and slides a hand between them, lining his cock up and pressing in slowly, one inch at a time, until Jonny's got him -- all of him -- and Sean's closing his eyes, holding himself steady and feeling just how warm and tight and _good_ this is.

"Fuck, yes," Jonny hisses, his body clenching, creating a sinfully tight drag on Sean's cock. Friction's sweet, and lube on the condom's not enough to keep it from burning. He spreads his legs wider, tries to open himself up, but doesn't relax too much. He really doesn't want to give up the pain.

Sean pushes up enough to brace both arms on Jonny's hips, pinning him to the arm of the couch and holding him still. The thrusts are slow but nearly brutal, Sean clenching his teeth together and enjoying every rough clench of Jonny's muscles. At this pace he could keep going for quite a while before needing to come -- and that's not the point. Not this time. He starts moving a little faster, looking for the pace that'll get Jonny's fingers clenching at the cushions.

It's not going to be long before Sean gets his wish. Jonny's pushing up on his feet as the pace quickens, his cock slammed against the unyielding arm, and within minutes he's stretching as he can, face buried in the cushions and fingers clawing under them, one hand digging against the couch's back while the other grips the front edge of the middle cushion. He's muttering random syllables into the fabric, _yesmoreohyeah_.

Sean reaches down and grabs for Jonny's hair, dragging his head back. "_Louder._"

"Yes, sir," Jonny says, loud and clear. "Fuck, that's good. More. Please. Want it."

_More._ Sean tightens his grip in Jonny's hair and gives it to him, long hard thrusts coming faster and faster, until he can hear the sofa creaking underneath them.

"Godfuckindamnnit, yes," Jonny hisses, his neck strained backwards, his fingers now scrambling to find their hold again.

"How does it feel?" Sean growls. "Are you hard for me again?" He wonders, grinning, if there was really enough time between ending and beginning for Jonny _not_ to be hard. Maybe not.

He is. Pinned against the couch, barely enough time to come down, and Jonny's hard again. And it hurts more beautifully than the first time. "Yes, sir," he breathes out between Sean's calculated thrusts.

"Good boy," Sean grins -- he's been saying that a lot, but hell, Jonny's earned it -- and he rises a little, hooking his fingers under Jonny's hips and holding on tight while he fucks his boy until Jonny's skin must be carrying impressions of the blanket's weave.

Jonny's thinking he may be imprinted into the couch before the night's over, his mind tripping for a second to wonder if Sean's husband'll mind having a boy woven into the furniture. The rough fabric's scratching his cock, which only adds to the tension, the delicious pull for more. "Oh, fuck, sir, so close." _Fuck, don't want to be. Want to wait, need more._

"That's two," Sean grins; he's _not_ close, not yet, and not planning on stopping until he's goddamned good and ready. "Come for me, lad."

"Hurtssirsogood," he moans into the air. He does, at the command, and it's harder and more painful than the first, his cock tight against the couch, no room for the spasming, and he's drenching the fabric, body jerking back into Sean's unending thrusts. _Lad. Fuck, yes._

"God, _fuck_, so good for me," Sean pants, planting a hard hand on the back of Jonny's neck, giving them both a few second's rest with his thighs pressed hard against Jonny's. "So good for me. Can you take more?"

"Christinfuckinghellyes," Jonny spits out without knowing if he can or can't. He wants it. He wants to pass out with wanting it. But his cock's arching from having come twice already and his body's damned sore. None of it matters. Only thing that _does_ matter is what Sean wants. Jonny really doesn't have any choice. "Take it, sir. Yes, whatever you give."

"Hold on for me," Sean murmurs, one firm hand on Jonny's neck, the other still on his thigh, and then he lets go: just fucks him, hard and fast, until he's growling from it.

"Hold on," he repeats. _Hold on to what? How?_ And then the questions become moot as he's fucked back into the couch's arm, body taking the full force of brutal thrusts. Jonny doesn't even want to think about what his butt's gonna look like, with nice black bruises. _Fuckin' brill, that's what._

Closer. And closer. And then he's _there_, gripping and flirting on the knife-edge that'll send him over, knowing exactly how much the body under him's hurting, how he's being torn apart, that he's taking it, every moment of it, every inch of it, _for Sean_, and then he's coming, hard and hot and every bit as brutal as the motions of his hips have been these last intense minutes.

Burning from within. That's the only way Jonny can describe that sensation of being fucked so hard till the other man comes. The moment he's begged for, on knees, hands and knees, crawling. He pushes back, hands clutching at the sofa cushion for something to hold onto, a brace against those final thrusts.

Sean nearly collapses forward onto Jonny when he's done, arms aching, entire body winded. "_Christ_." He takes a few more deep breaths. "God, you're a good lad for me."

"Thank you, sir," Jonny breathes out, trying to suck in oxygen being shoved out of his lungs. "Enjoyed it. A lot." He conscioiusly leaves out the nouns and pronouns, not sure if Sean wants to hear third-person or first or just not hear Jonny talk at all.

"I could tell," Sean teases. He eases his way back out of Jonny --slowly, God, carefully, grimacing as he stands up again -- and as soon as he's disposed of the condom, he climbs onto the couch and tugs Jonny forward. "Come lie on me a while. You feel good."

"Lie on you? Yes, sir." Jonny pushes himself up with a long, drawn-out wincing, every muscle he can count hurting. _Been too fuckin' long._ He stretches out over Sean's body, tucking his leg in between the already outstretched ones, liking the fit immediately, finding it relaxing and comfortable.

There's a small part of Sean that wonders what his lover would do if he found Sean curled up with a sated, bruised, well-fucked boy when he got home. He doesn't think they'll stay curled up quite that long, but he does tug the afghan down from over the back of the couch, tucking it around both of them. "Mine," he murmurs.

_-end-_


	3. Chapter 3

Every Thursday night for months Pierce has been coming home to a quiet house. Sean's usually asleep by the time he gets in, and Pierce tends to settle in to bed next to him, warming his skin up against his sleeping lover.

Tonight the lights are on when Pierce slips in the door, and Sean greets him with a cup of tea. "Welcome home. How was your night?"

"Not as good as yours," Pierce grins, foregoing the tea and wrapping his arms around Sean's neck. "Damn, you look good." He does. He's in loose pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt, showered and looking more relaxed than he's been in a long time. Pierce leans in for a kiss, and Sean gives it to him, deep and slow and hungry.

"That good?" Pierce whispers against Sean's lips. Sean smells of soap and, very faintly, of sex. Pierce is getting hard.

"It was wonderful," Sean grins. "Thank you for tonight."

"We talked about this," Pierce says mock-sternly, bringing a hand up and rubbing his fingertips over Sean's face. "I want you to be happy. I want you to have him." _I want this one to work,_ he thinks, remembering too many boys who haven't. "What's he like?"

"Young. Charming. Fucking adorable and incredibly eager to please." Sean presses his hips against Pierce's, snaking a hand around to the small of his back. "Made him come over and over 'til it was too much to take." _'Til it was agony_, Sean thinks, but holds that back. Pierce has his limits.

"Does that mean you're all worn out?" Pierce teases, letting his hips rub-slide against Sean's.

"Mm-hm." Sean grins and kisses Pierce again, even slower, even deeper, hot and flavored very slightly of Pierce's favorite tea. "All worn out," he whispers, "means you'll have to fuck me."

Pierce groans against Sean's lips. "Don't tease," he says. He steps back, runs a fingertip down Sean's chest. "You'll get my hopes up for nothing. To say nothing of my cock's hopes..."

Sean reaches down and squeezes the body part in question. "I mean it," he says. "Come to bed."

Pierce slips his hand into Sean's and lets Sean lead him back to the bedroom. The condoms are on Sean's side of the bed, and he tosses one to Pierce before pulling the covers back. Pierce grins; Sean rarely rolls over for him, and God, the man looks good while he's doing it.

Pierce slips out of his clothes, watching Sean tug his pajama bottoms off and toss his t-shirt aside. Sean burrows under the covers, pulling them up to his chest and shooting Pierce a mischievous look. "Come and get me."

"Don't think I won't." Pierce gets the lube out of his nightstand and climbs right on top of Sean, covers and all. "You should have told me I was getting _this_ when I came home. I'd have got home sooner."

"You'd have spent the whole night hard and distracted." Sean grins and slides both hands into Pierce's hair. "And you wouldn't have gotten any work done. You'd have ended up calling me and threatening to beat off over the phone."

"Would you have liked that?" Pierce asks, starting to shove the covers down and getting them around Sean's waist. "I don't think I would've actually done it. Not at the office."

Sean squirms, reluctantly letting go of Pierce's hair so Pierce can get the covers down around their ankles and slip between Sean's thighs. "Wouldn't have called and told me you were turned on? Or wouldn't have offered to beat off?"

"Maybe I'd have called," Pierce whispers, lowering his head and leaving small kisses across Sean's chest.

Sean cards his fingers through Pierce's hair again, sighing softly and sinking into the feel of having Pierce's lips and tongue gliding along his skin. It's gentle, easy, nothing like what he had with Jonny earlier this evening. It's always easy with Pierce. And always _good_. He squirms up against Pierce, cock rubbing against his stomach. He's not likely to get hard again tonight, not completely, but he can certainly enjoy all of it.

"Love you," Pierce whispers. He gets the lube out and slicks up his fingers, pressing them between Sean's legs. Sean's so tight -- fuck, it's been months -- and Pierce wonders if he'll last more than a few minutes once he's actually inside Sean's body. "You feel so good."

"You, too," Sean agrees, spreading his thighs, slipping his hands under his knees and pulling them up a little more. "It's enough -- just fuck me, want you, don't want to wait any longer."

"Won't make you wait," Pierce promises, tearing open the condom packet and getting it rolled over his cock. He hooks his arms under Sean's legs and glances down at Sean's body one more time -- _fucking gorgeous_ \-- before starting his slow press in.

"Fuck, _yes_," Sean grunts, "more, harder, come on..." He arches up against Pierce, threading his arms between them so he can get his hands on Pierce's arse. "_Come on._"

Harder. Always harder. It's always like this when Pierce is topping; _more_ and _harder_ and _come on_, with both of them struggling for more until they're sweating and panting and exhausted from it.

It's never been like this with any of Pierce's other lovers. It's never been even close to this. And he's used to sex that comes along with words like _slow down_ and _okay, easy, not so rough_, since it's what he's gotten all these years. But the rare times it's him on top, it's always this way: _give it to me, make me feel it, I can take it harder than that, come on, come on, fucking come on..._

It's fire up Pierce's spine; it's heat all the way through his body, every time, and he's never even tried to figure out why. He just gives it to Sean, every bit as hard and rough as Sean wants it, and he grits his teeth to keep his own orgasm at bay for as long as possible.

Sean's nails dig into his hips, and Pierce gasps, throwing his head back. "Christ, too much--"

"Not enough," Sean growls under him. "Come on, lover, _hurt me_\--"

"_Oh, God._" Pierce gasps, gives another few rough thrusts, letting go enough to give Sean what he's asking for, what he's demanding. _More. Not enough. Hurt me._ The thoughts cascade over Pierce one after another, and they're hot enough, but the reality of doing it, of watching Sean's face tighten as Pierce pounds into him -- it _burns_, a line straight down his spine, and he bites at Sean's shoulder as he comes.

"_Fuck!_" Sean rocks back against Pierce, legs slipping down, and wraps his arms around Pierce's shoulders. "Fuck... fuck, that was good," he groans. "Am I marked?"

_Marked._ Pierce shoves back, looking down at Sean's shoulder. He blinks a little; he's made a few accidental toothmarks that lasted a few hours, but this is different. It's a nice-sized bite that looks like it's going to be there a day or two. "A little," Pierce murmurs. "Is that all right?"

"It's perfect," Sean says. He squirms under Pierce, wincing just a little. "Love you. Want to snuggle and go to sleep."

"OK." Pierce slips out of Sean's arms and legs and heads for the bathroom to clean up; by the time he comes back, Sean's curled up on his side.

Pierce grins and slips into bed behind him. Sean purrs and tugs Pierce's arm over his chest.

"Is next Thursday going to be anything like this?" Pierce whispers.

"Hope so," Sean whispers back. "God, I hope so."

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> This was cowritten with [Luna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna), who shared her enthusiastic and adorable Jonny Lee Miller muse with me for it. Luna passed away in March 2010, and is greatly missed.


End file.
